


Cups

by monaboyd_archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-29
Updated: 2004-03-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:58:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4438130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monaboyd_archivist/pseuds/monaboyd_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy has a few things he hates (loves) about Dominic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cups

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the Monaboyd.net Archive, which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years . To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile.

He likes to use the plastic cups without handles, even though they leak and leave sticky rings of orange juice or coke or whiskey 'round the bottom. He says its because he’s afraid of breaking the glasses, but he’s never dropped his cup, not once in all the time you’ve known him. You tell him it’s ludicrous to drink whiskey out of a plastic cup, that he looks like a four-year-old trying to act grown-up, but he just smiles slow and sweet, and tells you that he agrees. You tried throwing away the leaky cups one day, but the next morning they were back in the cabinet, and now you’ve just given up.

It’s one of his quirks that you love, like his refusal to buy paper plates and his determination to save the black widow in the corner of the sitting room, because “she couldn’t help wanting a home of her own.” You let him keep the cups for that reason, and follow him around with a dirty yellow sponge to clean up the soda-rings he leaves on the coffee table, the kitchen counter, the bedroom nightstand.

One day you have a fight about everything and nothing at all, and it ends in a shouting match with you pointing out everything that you hate (love) about him. You tell him that you hate his leaky cups and you’re afraid of spiders and you really don’t see the point of not buying the plates, because other people will just buy them instead. You don’t really mean it, and you realize that the minute he walks out and slams the door behind him.

You don’t really expect him to come home, because, after all, why should he? You’ve made it perfectly clear that you hate (love) him. So when the front door squeaks open, you don’t mind that he forgot to oil the hinges, because it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard.

You think maybe he’s just come to collect his things and leave for good, but when you meet him in the front hall his hands are full of grocery bags. He drops them, and they clatter noisily to the ground and tip over, spilling green plastic cups. The cups roll across the tile floor, and one butts up against your toes and stops, and you look at him for an explanation. He just smiles ruefully and shrugs.

You bend down to look in the other bags. You find three packs of paper plates, a can of Raid, and a whole set of the bright green cups. You hate the color, it clashes horribly with the flat and the rest of the dining ware you own, but you don’t care.

When you kiss him, he kisses you back, and that’s all that matters.


End file.
